


Fortunes of War

by soseta



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Gang Rape, Held Down, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soseta/pseuds/soseta
Summary: An away mission gone horrifically wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the original Star Trek XI Kink Meme: _Rape has a long history as an act of war, and these folks are in warlike situations pretty regularly. No porn cliches (she's enjoying it really) and please no implication the woman deserves it. She doesn't. And no healing cocks afterwards. I want the event itself, in all its trauma._

It starts like any other mission – sensor sweeps reveal a low level pre-industrial civilisation on the far side of the planet, the rest covered in forest and the odd area of rocky terrain that for some reason proves impervious to scanners. First Officer Spock in his guise as CSO theorises it might have something to do with mineral deposits reacting with blah blah blah. Lieutenant Franklin stops listening. He's just ballast on an away team like this, someone to do the heavy lifting. Spock's on a scientific tear, and the captain, as more and more often recently, is in a mood to indulge him. He's also in a mood to stretch his own legs, and shamelessly includes himself in the party, over Spock's objections. Uhura asks to tag along, and Kirk can't in good conscience say no. One of the newbies from Security rounds out the party, Smith or Jones or something, and Franklin's just glad he has seniority. The kid can carry Mr Spock's rocks.

It ends like every other mission – total fucking disaster. There's no way they could have known the Klingons had a base here, in flagrant breach of the Treaty of Organia and shielded by the sensor interference – Spock was right about the minerals, hoo-fucking-ray – but that's no consolation when they come under fire and are picked off one by one. The kid goes down first, disruptor beam to the face, another victim of the redshirt curse. Spock takes one to the shoulder, but it barely slows him down. Kirk loses it a little then, going hand to hand when his phaser runs out of juice. He does okay, considering the Klingon has a foot and fifty pounds on him, but the Klingons have never fought fair and it's no real surprise, to Franklin at least, when he pulls a knife and plunges it into the captain's belly. Kirk goes down hard, and that's the end of it. Spock crumples to his knees beside him, hands desperately applying pressure to keep the captain's insides _inside_ , and Franklin and Uhura surrender. If the guys in _gold_ are expendable, there's no hope for those in red.

They somehow make it to the Klingon camp, hauling Kirk between them, and get tossed into what looks like a common room or mess hall. The base commander appears within moments, and it's immediately obvious he's _pissed_. He strikes the blood soaked warrior across the face, screaming insults and aspersions. The officer takes it meekly, but his chest is heaving, his clenched fists shaking at his sides. The commander steps past him roughly, grabbing Kirk by the shoulder. Kirk moans in pain, but doesn't come around. Spock's eyes flare in his impassive face, but he holds on tightly and says nothing. The commander sighs.

"I would have liked to meet the famous James T Kirk under better circumstances," he says, "but you will have to do, Mr Spock. Come with me"

Spock doesn't move. The commander backhands him viciously. "Come. With. Me." he repeats.

"I cannot," Spock replies. "The captain will surely bleed to death if I let go of him."

"The captain will likely bleed to death anyway," the commander counters. "We have no medical facilities here."

A lone muscle in Spock's cheek twitches.

"Come with me, and I will allow your subordinates to tend Kirk's wound. When the interrogation is over I will allow you to hail your ship and request beam up."

"I cannot tell you anything that will harm the Federation," Spock says sternly.

"On the contrary, you will tell me everything I wish to know. The mind sifter has been considerably improved since last you experienced it. It can destroy a human intellect in minutes; even Vulcan mental control will scarcely last longer."

"I will tell you nothing," Spock insists.

"So be it," the commander agrees, almost good naturedly. "One of us will be proved correct. In any case, when we are finished you will be returned to your ship. I have no wish to provoke a war."

Spock nods. "Lieutenant Franklin, Lieutenant Uhura."

They hurry over to him. Between them they manage to get Kirk transferred into Franklin's lap, between his spread knees, back against his chest. He braces himself against the wall, wraps both arms around Kirk, and applies as much pressure to the wound as he can while Uhura packs it with the wadding one of the Klingon officers had fetched. Thank God she's here, because his own first aid knowledge is less than zero. She bandages right over his hands, pulling the strips tight, and Commander Spock walks out, face resolutely turned away. Franklin slips his fingers out carefully, and squeezes Uhura's briefly. She smiles at him, but she's clearly as terrified as he is. God knows how long Mr Spock can hold out, or if the captain can hold on that long, or if the Klingon commander will even keep his word.

The officer who'd stabbed Kirk paces the room, sparing them the odd glance and muttering under his breath. Franklin avoids eye contact as much as he can, focusing on his hands where Kirk's blood is drying and beginning to flake off. He wishes he'd stayed in Engineering, not taken the promotion and transfer to Security.

Uhura is braver, she's always been braver. "Can we have some water?" she asks, voice steady.

The Klingon ignores her.

"I said," Uhura repeats, "can we-"

"I heard you!" the Klingon roars, rounding on her. "But I do not answer to a woman's will. And you," he turns to Franklin, "you let your woman speak for you?"

"I am the ranking officer present," Uhura answers, before Franklin can fumble out a response.

The Klingon laughs. "I had heard that Starfleet was run by cowards and catamites. I see now that the rumours are true."

The rest of the assault party laughs too, but there's no good humour in it. "Careful Klom," one taunts, "after your performance today you may find yourself-"

"Silence!" Klom shouts. "How was I to recognise James Kirk, Hero of the Federation?" He flings an arm in Kirk's direction. "He's a _boy_! And you saw the way the Vulcan held him. He's a faggot too." He spits on the ground.

The Klingons keep laughing, even as they pour themselves drinks and settle at one of the tables. Already smarting under the shame of his commander's reprimand, Klom loses his temper completely.

"You!" he shouts at Franklin. "Coward! You who sit unwounded and do nothing. I will show you what it is to be a man. And you," he turns to Uhura, "see what it is to know a real man, for the first time in your life."

Franklin's jaw drops. He can't possibly mean… Klom stalks towards them, grabs Uhura by the top of her ponytail, drags her to her feet. She gasps in pain, hands automatically going to her head even as she staggers towards him. He throws her, hard, against the opposite wall. Franklin tries to move but Kirk's a dead weight and his legs are numb. The clotting wound breaks open under his hand, fresh blood oozing through the bandage and between his fingers.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Uhura hisses. 

Klom slaps her in the face, hard, sending her head flying into the concrete wall. She blinks, dazed, and a trickle of blood rolls down her chin. He grabs the black neckband of her dress in both hands and tears it right down the front. She kicks out at him, booted foot catching him in the thigh, and he punches her in the stomach. She gasps, doubled over unable to breathe, and he drags her back into the centre of the room, pulling the shreds of her uniform dress off her shoulders. For a moment she stands defiant, white cotton bra and panties stark against her dark skin, then he sweeps her feet out from under her, hand on her shoulder sending her crashing to the ground.

He laughs, and drops to the floor on top of her. She struggles, kicking with both legs, both hands slapping and scratching at his face. He seizes both her hands, holds them tightly in one of his huge paws, grinds his pelvis against her lower body.

"Stop! Stop!" she screams, the first signs of panic in her voice, but he ignores her, using his free hand to tear her bra from her body. Her breasts swing loose, and he lowers his head to lick and bite at one. " _Stop!_ " she screams again.

The officer who had taunted Klom stands up, and for one moment Franklin thinks he's going to put an end to this, but then he sees the bulge in the Klingon's pants. The Klingon strolls over to the struggling bodies on the floor, kneels at Uhura's head. He takes her hands from Klom, pulls the torn bra up from her elbows to her wrists, lashes them tightly together and pulls hard, stretching Uhura's arms above her head and making her arch her back to ease the pressure. Klom looks at him suspiciously.

He shrugs. "You first, brother."

Klom laughs. Uhura tries to headbutt him, but cannot get the leverage. He licks her face and she bites at him, legs still kicking wildly, arms straining against the second Klingon's hold.

It only serves to make Klom more excited. He kneads Uhura's breasts violently, big fingers squeezing the soft flesh, cupping them, forcing them together and apart, then viciously pinching at the nipples. Uhura whimpers in pain, and it enflames him further, makes him lean down to suck at the tiny points, dragging them cruelly between his teeth. He sits up abruptly.

"Come!" he barks, low and guttural, and the other two guards get up from the table where they've been watching and laughing.

"Hold her!" he commands, and they take their places to Uhura's sides, each grasping one of her legs at the knee.

"No! No!" she screams, "Don't! Don't!"

They ignore her, pulling her legs wide. The muscles in her thighs twitch visibly as she strains desperately to close her legs, but in vain. Klom pulls his knife from its sheath, still stained red with Jim Kirk's blood, and brandishes it.

"A true warrior is never without a weapon," he declares, to a chorus of laughter and cheers, and as Uhura flinches and closes her eyes he uses it to roughly slice off her panties.

The Klingons cheer again at the sight of her exposed vagina, soft and pink beneath its fine layer of hair, and the two at her knees force her legs even further apart, leaning on them with their full weight. Her vagina opens helplessly, and Uhura cries out, sobbing at last, "Please, please. Please don't, _please_."

Klom ignores her, stroking two fingers across the outer lips then stabbing them inside. Uhura gasps and tries even harder to pull away. The warrior at her head pins her bound hands with a knee and presses down on her shoulders with his full weight. Uhura turns her face away from him, eyes firmly closed. Franklin doesn't know what to do. Should he turn away, close his own eyes, give her what privacy he can? Or should he acknowledge her bravery with his own, not spare himself the torment? At that moment her eyes open and lock on his, and the choice is made. He nods at her faintly, and as the tears well in her eyes he thinks he sees her answer.

Klom unbuttons his trousers and his penis springs free, stiffening further as the cool air touches it. It's huge, far larger than a human penis, a dusky rose and ridged like his forehead. The ridges flare further as he strokes a hand over it, and it stands out from his body proudly. He leans forward over Uhura, stroking the tip over the opening to her body. She bites her lip till it bleeds.

"Now," Klom says, and his voice is rough with arousal, "now see what a man feels like."

He forces his penis into her vagina with one savage thrust, and she screams in pain, cries out again and again, "No, no," as he begins to move. He pulls out almost the full length of his penis, till just the bulbous head is inside her, then thrusts in again just as hard. She screams again, and he leans down to lick the side of her face. Three, four, five equally brutal thrusts follow, each as hard and slow and controlled as the first, as the Klingon warriors drum their fists on the floor and shout in time.

His control breaks and he speeds up, strokes shortening as he slams into her faster and faster, grunting loudly every time. Her screams become pained moans, a desperate litany of "No, no, no, no, no" as he continues to plunder her body. His whole body stiffens as he comes, torso jerking off hers, arm flung into the air, fist clenched in triumph as his hips continue to pump between her thighs.

" _Q'apla!_ " he shouts, and the others echo, " _Q'apla_."

He collapses over Uhura's pinned body, and she shudders, trying to shake him off. After a few moments he withdraws, wipes off his softening penis on the scraps of her discarded panties, and fastens his clothing. The Klingon at Uhura's head lets go of her arms, and moves to take his place between her spread thighs. Klom laughs, and takes position at her head.

The second Klingon is quicker, though no less brutal. His penis is shorter than Klom's, but wider, and he wastes no time in thrusting it inside Uhura's open vagina. She cries out as it forces its way through the spasming muscle, but after that it seems easier, the passage lubricated by Klom's semen. Klom's relaxed now, at her head, a scornful smile on his face, but the two at her legs are still tense, still waiting their turn. They continue to beat time and cry out as their comrade thrusts. He comes with a surprised grunt, and almost before the aftershocks have finished the warrior at Uhura's left knee is pulling him off her. His penis slides out with a wet slurp, followed by a gush of bright yellow semen, the combined product of his and Klom's ejaculations.

Uhura barely moves as they switch positions, and can only moan as the third warrior slides into her. He takes his time, thrusting long and languid into her unresisting body, hips rocking smoothly. His hands roam her entire body, her breasts, her shoulders, her hips and thighs. It seems to go on forever, and it's almost harder to take than the violence, the silence broken only by the wet squelching sounds of his entry and exit and Uhura's hitching breaths. At last he seems to grow bored, and moves to take a firm hold on the crest of her hips, pulling her hard against him. He moves smoothly, inhuman strength enabling him to pull back onto his haunches, never leaving her body as she moves with him. Klom smiles and lifts her torso, then pushes down on her shoulders, forcing her down onto the penis deep within her.

Uhura cries out as the penetration deepens even further, and her full weight settles on her bruised groin and thighs. The Klingons at her sides let go of her legs, tucking them under her, and sit back to enjoy this new spectacle. The warrior inside her speeds up at last, grunting as he thrusts his hips up again and again. Klom continues to add his weight to hers, pushing down as his partner pushes up. Uhura's eyes are glassy as they lock with Franklin's over the shoulder of her rapist, and it crosses his mind that Kirk would have rather died than witness this, that if he'd been conscious he would have ordered Franklin to leave him, to do something, anything to help her. He holds the captain tighter and does nothing.

The Klingon comes at last with a triumphant shout, and Klom lets go of Uhura. She slumps against the warrior still inside her, whole body shaking as he shudders out his completion. He shoves her off at last, and she lies unmoving on the floor. There's a moment of calm as he puts his clothes to rights, and then he laughs, gesturing at the fourth and last of the party.

"A sad day to be last and least, Makh" he taunts. "She's so loose now she could be an Orion."

"Too bad," Klom agrees. "She was tight as a virgin before. You saw her spirit. A whole ship of eunuchs, and none to service her."

Makh grunts. "We'll see," he says tersely, climbing to his feet.

He crosses to her, nudges her with the toe of his boot. She pulls away. "Yes," he repeats, bending to grasp her round the waist, "we will see."

He pulls her easily to her feet, and drags her across the room to the table they'd been seated at earlier. Kicking one of the chairs out of the way, he throws her across its scarred surface, face down. She grunts as the air is driven out of her lungs, tries to right herself. He slams her torso back down against the table, kicks her feet wide apart. The other Klingons begin to hoot and cheer.

He unbuttons his trousers, pushes them down to his thighs. His penis rises thick and long, ridges flaring, bobbing wildly as it seeks its target. His hands clamp down on Uhura's buttocks, squeezing cruelly, thumbs stroking up and down then plunging into the cleft between. He roughly pulls her cheeks apart, revealing the tight furl of her anus. His penis skids once, twice over the tiny entrance, then he takes himself in hand, the other holding her spread, and positions himself at his goal.

"No, oh no, _no_ ," Uhura gasps as he prods at her.

"Yes," he says simply, pulling back his hips, and then he's _slamming_ forward, all his weight and all his strength behind the savage thrust.

Uhura screams as the thick head of his massively engorged penis forces its way through the resisting muscle. Her hands claw desperately at the tabletop as she tries to pull away, but there's nowhere to go. He takes a firm hold of her hips and pulls her towards him, even as he pushes inexorably forward. She screams and screams, and eventually he gives up, barely a third of his huge penis inside her. He pulls out in disgust and she collapses, sobbing quietly.

It's just a momentary respite. He shoves his hand between her legs, swiping through the glossy mess there, then forces three fingers into her open vagina. His friends cheer and stamp their feet, moving forward to get a good view as he smears their combined ejaculate over his penis. He strokes himself from root to tip, moaning and shivering in his excitement, then resumes his position at the swollen entrance to Uhura's body. The lubrication helps just enough for him to force himself inside, but it's still a battle, withdrawing and pressing forward, inch by tortured inch.

Uhura stops screaming when he's fully seated, blood slipping down her chin where she's bitten through her lip, hands clenched tightly round the edge of the table, and then he begins to thrust. The first few strokes are tentative, slow, more a shallow rocking of his hips than a true withdrawal and entry, but as the resistance weakens he begins to speed up until he's slamming back and forth inside her. Uhura's crying constantly now, great heaving, racking sobs that shake her whole body. It only serves to excite him further.

He's louder than any of the others, grunting and moaning and shouting Klingon curse words that defy translation. As he nears his climax he leans forward over Uhura's trapped body, torso pressed full length to hers, arms reaching to link with hers, hands grasping hers tightly. He dislodges her grip on the table, pulls her arms down to wrap around herself in a grotesque parody of intimacy. He forces her still bound hands under her body and down to where his flesh enters hers, their linked fingers stroking across his testicles, circling her cruelly stretched rim. He comes at last with a roar, and pulls out of her as roughly as he'd entered. His penis as it deflates is streaked with pink. Uhura, without his weight to hold her up, slides off the table and curls beside it, crying silently.

A few moments pass as the Klingons congratulate and heckle each other, and then there's movement at the door. It's the commander, Mr Spock at his elbow. The commander casts a jaundiced eye over the room, and says coldly, "You disgust me, all of you."

The warriors say nothing as he removes his own tunic and wraps it gently round Uhura, carrying her across the room and laying her down beside Franklin and Kirk.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, then as he glances back at Spock, "truly sorry."

Spock hasn't moved, still standing in the doorway. There's blood pouring out of his nose, and a steady trickle from one of his ears, pooling emerald green in the hollow of his throat and soaking black into his uniform top. The commander has to lead him over and push him down to sit with the group.

"He was right," the commander says, a touch of wonder in his voice. "He was right." He hands Franklin one of their confiscated communicators then walks away, motioning for the other Klingons to follow. They do, no doubt to evacuate the base.

Franklin's bloodstained hands when he prises them from Kirk's belly are shaking so hard it takes him three tries to open the communicator and turn it on. "Franklin to _Enterprise_ ," he manages at last.

" _Enterprise_ here," Mr Scott's unmistakable voice replies.

Franklin breathes deep and tries to calm himself. "Four to beam up," he says steadily. He's ranking officer now, after all. Kirk's so white in his arms he's practically blue, his lips cyanotic, his pulse barely perceptible. Spock is catatonic, maybe brain damaged. Uhura is… Uhura is. But he's alive. Barely even bruised.

"Have Medical standing by," he says. "All of it. McCoy and M'Benga and Chapel and" – he swallows hard – "one of the female doctors."

As the golden glow of the transporter beam encircles them, he can't help wishing he'd died in the initial assault with Smith. Jones. Whatever his name was.


End file.
